The Last Straw
by QuMerc
Summary: Sam and Dean deal with the repercussions of their brief separation. Coda to the season 1 episode, Scarecrow.
1. Chapter 1

Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. No copyright infringement intended.

Warnings: Some bad language, but that's about it. Also, this won't make much sense unless you've seen the Scarecrow episode.

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The Last Straw

Chapter 1

Sam found himself behind the steering wheel of the Impala, not quite knowing how he got there. When they had left the bus station, he had been in his customary seat and had closed his eyes, the rumbling of the engine a soothing lullaby in the background.

It hadn't even been close to lunchtime when his brother had awakened him with a muttered, "Your turn to drive." Switch made, Sam had pulled back onto the road.

Now, as the last song on the tape wound down, Sam hit the eject button and turned off the radio. Without the wail of guitars or the thundering beats on a bass drum, Sam realized Dean hadn't said anything in over an hour, hadn't even moved. With a quick glance to his right, he confirmed that his brother was asleep and he frowned.

No matter where the hunt took them, the Impala always got them there. The car was sometimes a weapon, occasionally an emergency vehicle. It was always their sanctuary. Dean drove it most of the time because it was "his baby" and he trusted no one else to show her the respect and care she deserved. Despite his feeling on the matter, however, Dean was still human. Therefore, every now and again, Sam, after the standard lecture on the right way to treat the Impala, was allowed to drive.

But there had been no lecture.

A spark of unease flared in Sam's gut and he looked over at Dean again.

Usually after ridding the world of yet another evil, Sam knew his brother needed to get out of the crazy hunter headspace that could wreak havoc with one's psyche. Dean had always found his release behind the wheel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal. It was what Sam referred to as the Heavy Metal Phenomenon. Play enough Sabbath and Metallica loud enough to almost blow a speaker and let the needle climb on the speedometer, and you could outrun any demon, drown out any pain. Driving the Impala was definitely Dean's version of a comfort zone.

There were less than a handful of times that Sam could count which he'd been allowed to drive away from a hunt. Granted, Dean had actually driven away from Burkittsville, but it had only been a couple of hours--maybe less--before they'd changed places.

Sam put a hand to his stomach, feeling it knot in trepidation. He pulled the car onto the shoulder and turned off the engine. So maybe he was overcompensating for the guilt he felt at abandoning his brother, leading to Dean almost being sacrificed to a Norse god. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that tried to assuage his guilt by pointing out they each had separated of their own free will. But if Sam had made the decision not to turn back...he refused to finish the thought.

"Dean," he called, disturbing the silence.

His brother didn't stir from where he was tucked between the passenger seat and the door, his head resting on the sill, eyes closed.

Sam shifted closer to Dean, bracing himself with one hand on the dashboard the other on the bench seat. "Dean!"

Still nothing.

Sam again ignored the stupid voice in his head that told him Dean should have registered the car coming to a stop, the silence of the engine, someone leaning into his personal space. He already knew something was wrong; more proof wasn't going to change that.

Sam went over the past events in his mind, trying to account for his brother's unconscious state. Guilt reared its ugly head again as he realized there was no way he could. Dean had pretty much handled the whole scarecrow fiasco on his own. Sam had only managed to stumble in on the final act.

He glanced down at his brother's arms, noting the way Dean had them curled across his stomach, hands tucked away. Sam didn't need to see Dean's wrists to know they were ringed red where the rope had chafed them raw.

Sam's gaze traveled upward, focusing on his brother's face. Leaning in closer, Sam's eyes narrowed on the bruise above Dean's left eyebrow.

"Dean," he called again, shaking the other man's shoulder. "Come on, man, wake up."

This time Sam's plea was met with a groan. As Dean opened his eyes, he jerked back. "Sammy, shouldn't you be watching the road?"

Sam observed the wince Dean tried to hide. "I'm not driving."

Dean scowled. "You should be." He leaned away from Sam, almost wedging himself into the corner of his seat, and glanced out the window. "We're wasting daylight."

Sam touched the bruise on Dean's face. "What happened?"

Dean flinched as if Sam had hit him. "Dude, back off. Get out of my face."

"You never did tell me how you came to be a sacrifice," Sam said quietly.

"Not much to tell," was the expected answer.

"Dean," Sam said as he leaned forward to tower over his brother. He didn't think he could intimidate him, but it was worth a try. "Tell me." He brushed at the bruise again. "How did you get this?"

Dean pushed at Sam's shoulder. "You have a problem with personal space? Gimme room."

"Dean!" Sam snapped at him, losing patience. "We don't have time for this."

"You're right," Dean growled. "So get back on the fucking road. That is unless you want me to drive."

"There's no way I'm letting you drive," Sam bit out through clenched teeth.

"Sammy--"

"And we aren't moving until you tell me what I want to know." It was like pushing at a heavy door, wanting to get in, but being kept out. Dean always had a way of keeping things locked away from him, especially his pain. It was Dean's version of normal. Sam felt a measure of comfort that Dean was acting like his usual protective big brother self. It didn't mean he wasn't going to get his answers though.

Dean muttered something Sam thought might have been a curse. "You aren't going to drop this, are you?" Dean leaned his head back against the seat. "Fine. As I was leaving the professor's office, the town sheriff clocked me with the butt of his shotgun. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Sam muttered sarcastically. "How long were you unconscious?"

Dean shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"

Sam resisted the urge to shake his brother. It would aggravate the headache Dean was probably feeling. "I'm not asking for an exact time, you jerk. Just give me something to work with. You might have a concussion."

"Of course I have a freakin' concussion," Dean growled. "It wasn't a love tap, Sammy." Dean exhaled and Sam could see some of the tension leave his body. "But it's only a slight concussion. So you can just--stop worrying about it."

"How do you know it's only a slight concussion?" Despite Dean's dismissal of his injury, Sam was still concerned.

"Because I've had enough of 'em to know."

Sam wished he could argue with that, but he couldn't. He sat back and noticed as Dean relaxed even more, practically melting back against the bench seat. His brother really didn't like anyone in his space. Sam knew if it had been anyone else but him, Dean would have launched a right hook. "Yeah, all right." He moved back behind the wheel and started the car.

"Good," Dean grumbled, closing his eyes.

"Dean, stay awake," Sam ordered. He waited for Dean to comply before checking for traffic and pulling back onto the road.

"Give it a rest. I told you it was okay," Dean said.

"You also said you had a concussion. It's probably not a good idea to sleep." Sam tried to keep his tone reasonable, but it was hard when he remembered the difficulty he had in waking his brother.

A grunt came from the passenger seat of the Impala. "I'm not going to slip into a coma, Sam, trust me."

"You can't know that for sure, Dean." Sam's hands tightened on the steering wheel. _You wouldn't wake up. You weren't moving._

"Of course, I do." Sam heard the smirk in Dean's voice. "It was sometime yesterday afternoon when that son of a bitch hit me, and I was tied to a fucking tree most of last night. Hell, I don't think I've gotten much sleep since this whole damn thing started."

Sam was astonished at such an honest admission from his brother. Dean must be exhausted and Sam felt guilty. "Right. Get some sleep then."

"Thanks for your permission." The sarcasm was laced with a yawn. "Wake me when you need a break and I'll drive."

"Right." Sam had no intention of waking his brother now that he knew Dean wasn't going to suffer any ill effects from the blow to the head. Sleeping in the car, though, was probably not the best way to rest so Sam resolved to pull into the next motel.

TBC

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Feedback is craved. Thanks! Oh, and part 2 should be up soon. Stay tuned. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Supernatural _belongs to Kripke and The CW. No copyright infringement intended.

So this one was just a two-parter. I do hope you like it. Let me know what you think!

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The Last Straw

Chapter 2

Sam opened the passenger-side door and leaned forward. "Dean," he called. "Come on, man, wake up."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Dean shifted in his seat, his feet coming to rest on the ground.

Sam took a few steps back as Dean stood.

"Where are we?" Dean mumbled, yawning.

His brother did need to rest. "Motel."

Dean looked at his watch. "You've got to be kidding. It's not even noon."

"No." Sam took a measured breath and allowed his shoulders to slump. The moves had to be just right. "I'm tired."

Dean's eyes narrowed at him. "Fine. I'll drive."

Knowing he was being assessed, Sam rubbed his temple. "Man, I want a real bed. I could use a shower, too. Wash the stink of the bus depot off me."

"You got a headache?"

Sam had been expecting the gruff question. He dropped his hand and waited a beat too long. "No, I'm good."

"You've already paid for the room, right?"

His brother was caving, but Sam resisted the urge to smile. It wouldn't do to crow in Dean's face. They would be back on the road before he could say, _stubborn-ass brother_. Instead, he pointed to the room not far from the Impala's front bumper. "Room 6."

Dean looked from it to him and shook his head. "Little bitch," he muttered, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half smile that was gone before Sam even blinked. "We leave first thing in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam murmured. He handed the key to his brother. "I'll grab our stuff and meet you inside."

"Yeah, you do that." Dean didn't even look at him as he disappeared into the room.

"Yes!" Sam pumped his fist.

After making sure the car was secure for the night, he carried their bags into the hotel room. The shower was running and Sam kicked at Dean's discarded boots as he tossed his brother's duffle onto the bed nearest the door. He sat on his own bed, letting his bag fall from his fingers as he acknowledged that he really was tired. This whole trip had both been physically exhausting and emotionally draining for the both of them.

In a couple of minutes, the bathroom door opened and Sam looked up as his brother stepped out.

"Shower's free." Dean tossed his balled up t-shirt toward his bed even as he dried his bare chest with a towel. "Even left you some hot water. Get to it, man. You stink."

"Thanks." Sam rose from the bed as Dean walked passed him. He picked up his bag and began rifling through it, looking for his kit and sleep gear. "You think we could order a piz--Dean!"

His brother, in the process of pulling a clean t-shirt over his head, yanked the material down quickly and reached for the gun habitually tucked into the back of his pants. Sam watched as Dean realized he was wearing boxer shorts and there was no gun. At any other time, Sam would have laughed at Dean's defensive, shielding stance as he scanned the room for danger.

"Shit. What is it, Sam?"

"Relax, man," Sam clipped out as he reached his brother's side. "Everything's okay. Well, everything except for you."

Dean frowned. "Sammy, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam gestured at Dean's covered torso. "I saw the bruises. You're going to have to ice those down if you expect to get a decent night's sleep."

Dean poked at his side. "Huh. Forgot about those." He prodded his side again.

"Hey, cut that out," Sam growled, no longer able to take the pain that crossed his brother's face as he continued to probe his bruised side. "Damn it, how could you forget something like that?"

Dean shrugged. "Sore all over, Sammy."

Sam swore again, this time feeling a little guilty. He'd seen the older bruises mixed in with fresher ones. His brother still hadn't fully gotten over being shot full of rock salt. Sam's actions at the asylum were going to haunt him--haunt them both--for a long time to come. "Let me get the med kit. You should probably take something for the pain."

"I already took some pills, man."

"The hell you did, Dean!"

Dean glowered at him for a long moment. "You think I'm lying to you?"

Sam's gut tightened at the tone of his brother's voice, but he ignored the warning. "About this? Yes!"

"Nice, Sammy." Dean crossed his arms. "You don't even believe your own brother."

Sam tilted his head, his gaze raking his brother from head to toe. "Not when it comes to your health. You'd lie about that in a heartbeat, Dean, and you know it. You never tell me if something's wrong or if you're hurting. I always have to figure it out myself."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I took the damn pills already, Sam. I _can_ take care of myself, you know."

Sam ignored that last bit because, while it was mostly true, there were times it wasn't. No use arguing about it, though, because Dean would just shut down on him and that was not what needed to happen right now. "How could you have taken any pills, Dean? The bags have been in the car with the med kit."

Dean walked over to his jacket lying over the stuffed chair in the corner. He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a pill bottle. Pills rattled as he shook it at Sam. "I grabbed 'em before we even left Burkittsville."

"Oh." Sam looked away. His brother had been telling the truth, but that wasn't what was bothering him. Dean only took medication as a last resort. The realization that Sam hadn't noticed Dean was in pain made him nauseous. It meant either Sam was slipping or worse, his brother was learning to hide it better. Neither was acceptable. He vowed to keep a more careful eye on Dean. "Sorry."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "So? Are we through here? You went through all the trouble of getting me to stop for some rest. Think I could get some sleep now?"

Sam looked back at him. "I really am sorry, man. Just worried. That's all."

Dean yanked back the covers and settled on the crisp, white sheets. "What's there to worry about?" He put a hand to his mouth and yawned. "It's all in a day's--night's--whatever's--work."

Sam looked at him, dumbfounded, as Dean tried to find a comfortable position for sleep. After shifting from side to side and wincing from every movement, he finally settled on his back with a sigh.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean mumbled with another yawn.

"How did you get the bruises?" It was obvious Dean was on the verge of sleep and that he needed it badly, but Sam still had to know.

"Hmmm... not sure." Dean fumbled for the covers and pulled them up to his chest. "Must have happened when they tossed me into the storm cellar for safe keeping. I don't think I was completely conscious when they did that. Those stairs were a bitch."

Sam sat down on the other bed and stared at Dean. First, cold-cocked by a shotgun. Then, tossed down the stairs and after, tied up to be sacrificed to some pagan god. All in a day's--night's--whatever's work. How could he not worry? "You hit your head again?"

Dean yawned and sniffled, blinking before settling his gaze on Sam. "Probably." He was so tired that Sam could see the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. "Look, it's over and we both made it through. Let it go."

"It's just that--"

"'It's just that--' nothing," Dean interrupted. "You can't let this shit get to you, man. It'll just eat you up inside."

"But I should have been there." Sam burst out. "If I had, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Dean sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he and Sam were face to face. "Maybe, maybe not. No way of knowing. That's really not the point here. Quit looking back. It turned out okay. _I'm_ okay." He sighed. "Just some bruises. I'm not dying anytime soon, Sam. I promise."

Sam knew Dean would never break a promise, but since they'd started traveling together again, an icy fear had begun to plague Sam. He had a terrible feeling that something was heading toward them--a force that he couldn't stop and that Dean might not survive. As his anxiety had grown, he'd made his own promise to himself. Nothing was going to happen to his brother.

"We cool now?" Dean's voice intruded on his thoughts.

Sam searched his brother's face, looking passed the pain and fatigue. He could see Dean's resolve, his confidence. His protective attitude was etched into every muscle and gave wattage to the smile suddenly sent Sam's way. His cocky big brother was still there despite the stress of the last few days.

"Yeah, we're good." Sam returned the smile. His brother took care of him. He could do no less in return.

"Good. Your moment's over." Dean eased back into bed, grasping the comforter to him. "Now get your ass in the shower and let me get some sleep. Don't wake me until after you've ordered the pizza."

"Yes, sir." Sam saluted and stood up. He'd wait until the pizza was actually delivered before disturbing Dean's rest.

"Smart ass," Dean murmured, eyes closing.

"Yeah, that's me," Sam said softly as his brother slipped into sleep.

He grabbed the ice bucket and the room key, delaying his much-needed shower for just a few minutes. Dean was in for a long night of pain and Sam wanted to be ready.

The End.


End file.
